Viole stepped up to the device.
Up close—
It was simpler than it looked from a distance.
A flat surface.
Smooth. Unmarked.
And beside it—
A pen.
Or something that looked like one.
No ink. No tip.
Just a narrow, polished rod.
He picked it up without hesitation.
No instructions. No labels.
Didn't need them.
He understood what to do.
The moment the tip hovered over the surface—
Faint lines appeared.
Responsive.
So he wrote.
Dungeons & Monsters.
The characters weren't anything I recognized.
Not even close.
Different structure. Different form.
And yet—
I read them.
Clearly.
Without effort.
…Wait.
That's—
I paused on that.
How?
These aren't letters I know.
Not even remotely similar.
So why—
Why does it make sense?
…
Then the answer came.
Simple.
I'm not reading it directly. I'm reading it through him.
Through Viole.
His understanding—
Becomes mine.
…That's convenient.
A little unsettling.
But convenient.
The surface reacted a second later.
A soft glow spread outward.
Then—
It appeared.
A projection.
Floating.
Not solid—
But not intangible either.
A screen.
Holographic.
That's the closest comparison.
Lines of text formed across it.
Titles.
Dozens.
No—
More than that.
Most of them under one category.
Dungeons.
Different regions. Different types. Different structures.
Makes sense.
There's more variation there.
Monsters came next.
Still a lot—
But not as overwhelming.
Viole's eyes moved across the list.
Scanning. Filtering.
Then—
He stopped.
Top of the list.
Dungeons & Monsters.
General knowledge. Foundation.
I caught the reasoning immediately.
Start broad. Refine later.
No need to dive into specifics yet.
He can always come back.
Search again.
Target what he needs when he needs it.
He reached out.
Touched the title.
The screen rippled slightly—
Then vanished.
A soft hum followed.
And then—
Movement.
From somewhere behind.
A book.
It came forward—
Floating.
Not fast. Not slow.
Just steady.
Like it was guided.
It stopped in front of the device.
Perfectly aligned.
…Okay.
That—
That's new.
I watched it closely.
No visible mechanism. No strings.
Just… magic.
The stone slab beside the device lit up faintly.
A symbol forming across its surface.
Instruction without words.
Tap. Register.
Viole picked up the book.
Set it down onto the slab.
A soft pulse.
Then—
The book opened.
On its own.
Pages flipping just enough to settle at the beginning.
…Alright.
Now I'm impressed.
Seriously.
A searchable system. A holographic interface.
And now—
Self-delivering books.
I almost laughed again.
Okay, this is actually ridiculous.
For a second—
I went back to that earlier thought…
Advanced.
Maybe even more than my world—
Then—
No.
Internet still wins.
But this—
This is something else.
Different kind of advancement.
Tangible. Physical.
And somehow—
More satisfying to watch.
Viole didn't care.
Not about any of that.
To him—
It worked.
That's all that mattered.
He picked up the book.
Turned.
Walked deeper into the library.
Rows of tables.
Empty spaces between occupied ones… He chose one without thinking.
Sat down.
The book settled in front of him. Open. Waiting.
Viole didn't hesitate. He started reading.
And just like that—
So did I.
The first few lines weren't new. Not really. Dungeons. Uncharted. Resource-rich. Dangerous. Relics. Artifacts. Monsters.
Things he already knew.
But here, they were laid out cleanly. Defined. Structured. No gaps to fill in yourself. No assumptions needed.
It felt… organized.
Then came the ranking system. F to EX. Straightforward. Expected.
But the next line sharpened it.
Dungeon rank equals boss threat.
I paused on that one. Not because it was complicated—because it wasn't.
It was too clean.
If it's B, the boss is B. Simple.
Unless something changes.
Evolution. Demotion.
So it's not fixed.
That part lingered longer than it should have.
The section shifted into structure, and that's where things opened up.
Dungeons weren't uniform. Not even close.
Some had full ecosystems. Forests. Light cycles. Day and night. Self-contained worlds that functioned on their own rules.
Others were simpler. Caves. Ruins. Constructed spaces. Natural or artificial—it didn't matter.
There was no standard.
Which meant—
There was no standard way to deal with them either.
Every dungeon had to be read as its own environment. Its own system.
That complicates things.
Then came the part that tied it all together.
Dungeons reset.
Not once. Not occasionally.
Repeatedly.
And each reset carried a possibility. Change. A C-rank dungeon shifting into B. Or dropping to D.
Depending on interaction. Exploration. Conditions.
So they evolve or degrade.
Like something alive.
That word surfaced again. Ecosystem. And this time, it didn't feel like a comparison.
It was literal.
Monsters respawn. Resources replenish. Nothing is ever truly exhausted.
Just cycled.
The flow never stops.
Then—
A shift.
Restrictions.
B-rank and above.
Once you reach the boss room, you don't leave.
Not until it's dead.
…
I stalled on that.
That's brutal.
No retreat. No fallback. No second attempt.
You go in, you finish it—or you stay there.
The reasoning didn't soften it either.
To prove you deserve what you take.
Loot. Artifacts. Relics. Power.
Or you don't leave.
That rule applies universally. Explored or not.
And if a dungeon with unknown rank enforces that restriction?
Immediate B-rank classification.
No discussion.
…
So the system itself enforces risk.
Not just the monsters inside it.
The Guild's role came next.
Weekly assessments. Scholars and Adventurers working together. Measuring shifts. Observing patterns. Adjusting ranks.
Mana density. Boss strength. Environmental changes.
It wasn't guesswork.
It was maintained. Constantly.
That brought the focus back to mana density.
This time, it was explained properly.
It affects everything. Monsters. Mutations. Strength.
And Adventurers.
That part mattered more than the rest.
It's not just about fighting better. Raising proficiency isn't just about skill—it's about survival.
Managing the environment itself.
Reducing the pressure.
Neutralizing what the dungeon does to you just by existing inside it.
So weaker adventurers don't just lose fights.
They get overwhelmed.
By the dungeon itself.
…
That's important.
Relics and artifacts followed.
Unpredictable. Undefined until interaction. And even then, limited.
What you can understand depends on your proficiency.
A stronger adventurer sees more.
A weaker one—
Sees nothing.
So knowledge itself is restricted.
Not by access.
By capability.
Then came A-rank and above.
A different category entirely.
Not something you understand just by touching. Not something you casually carry out.
They require study. Controlled conditions. Careful handling.
And keeping them?
Discouraged would be putting it lightly.
There's pressure there. Social, not just practical.
High-rank artifacts aren't just dangerous.
They're watched.
Monsters came next.
Inside or outside the dungeon—same origin.
But the environment changes them.
Dungeon monsters mutate. Adapt. Become something else entirely.
Stronger. More aggressive.
And sometimes—
They carry things.
Relics. Artifacts. Embedded into them. Enhancing them beyond what they should be.
…
So you're not just fighting a monster.
You might be fighting something that's been augmented by something you don't fully understand.
That's not just dangerous but also unpredictable.
Resources were exactly what you'd expect. Materials. Drops. Used for crafting. Magic applications.
Then plants.
Rare, unless the dungeon supports it.
Ecosystem-type dungeons. Forests. Natural growth cycles.
Which means herb gathering is possible.
But only under the right conditions.
Everything circled back to the same point.
The bigger picture.
Dungeons supply. Adventurers gather. Materials circulate. Crafting, research, trade—it all feeds into each other.
A system.
Not isolated.
Connected.
And at the center of it—
A cycle.
Not written explicitly. But it didn't need to be.
Dungeons reset. Monsters return. Resources replenish. Adventurers grow.
Nothing stays still.
Everything moves.
Balance, not through control—
But through constant motion.
I leaned into that thought, letting it settle.
…That's actually well designed.
Not artificially forced.
It works because everything has a role.
Even danger.
Especially danger.
Viole didn't stop reading. Didn't react much either.
But I felt it.
The difference.
What he knew before had shape now. Edges. Structure.
Less assumption.
More certainty.
And that changes things.
Because the next commission could be into a dungeon—
And he won't be walking in blind.
Viole's gaze drifted to the window.
The light had shifted. No longer the steady brightness of afternoon—softer now. Yellow fading into orange. The kind that lingers just before the day gives in completely.
Dusk.
He stood without hesitation and made his way back to the reception area. The stone slab was still lit, faintly glowing where he had activated it earlier.
Right.
He tapped it.
The response was immediate. The book in his hands shut on its own, the pages sealing as if pressed together by something unseen. When he placed it back on the reception table—the same spot where he had written his request—it didn't stay.
It lifted.
Not abruptly. Not violently.
Just… smooth. Controlled. It hovered for a brief moment, then drifted back to its original place among the shelves, sliding in perfectly as if it had never been moved.
…
I watched that a bit longer than necessary.
No visible mechanism. No sound beyond the faint shift of air. Mana-based, most likely. Automated. Precise.
Viole's thoughts brushed against it for a moment.
How does that even work?
Then—
If it works, it works.
And just like that, it was discarded.
Practical.
He turned and left the library.
Outside, the air had cooled slightly. The warmth of the day still lingered, but the edge of evening was settling in. The streets hadn't quieted yet—if anything, they felt more alive. People moving with purpose, finishing errands, preparing for the night.
He moved through it without slowing.
Then—
A thought surfaced.
Food.
Right. He hadn't eaten lunch.
…
I let that sit for a second.
He didn't react much to it. No annoyance. No urgency. Just recognition.
Then he adjusted.
Something light.
Soup. Sandwiches.
Simple enough to carry into tomorrow if needed.
Decision made, his thoughts shifted again—this time forward.
Tomorrow.
Two days until the promotion and reward. No immediate need to take a commission. He still had savings.
So—
Use the time.
Herbs.
The idea formed cleanly. Gather first. Then experiment.
Homemade medicine.
Even basic ones had value. Pain relief. Stomach issues. Fever. Colds.
Dullpetal was straightforward. He already knew that one.
The others—
Unfamiliar.
Dosage unknown. Potency uncertain. Especially once dried.
That part needed testing.
Drying them shouldn't be difficult. Just time and proper handling.
But still—
First time.
Which meant trial and error.
Controlled, if possible.
There was a pause in his thoughts. A brief overlap of practicality and something else.
Fishing.
If he was already going out, he might as well make use of it. Herbs near water sources weren't uncommon.
Catch something for dinner while gathering.
Everything lined up neatly.
But before the plan settled completely, another thought cut in.
Liora.
Afternoon.
The mentor.
He could still ask. Get more information. Maybe options.
Even if he planned to scout on his own, more choices wouldn't hurt.
That stayed.
Not urgent. But noted.
By the time the plan finished forming, the market was already in front of him.
Crowded. Lively. Voices overlapping. The usual rhythm of trade in motion.
He moved through it without hesitation.
Ingredients first. Vegetables. Broth base. A bit more than needed—enough for leftovers.
Then—
Bread. Ham. Cheese.
Simple additions. Practical.
No excess. No indulgence.
Just enough.
He adjusted the weight of the items in his hands and turned back toward the road home.
There was nothing new about the evening.
The routine held.
The kitchen came first. Ingredients laid out. Movements steady, familiar. Water brought to a boil. Vegetables cut cleanly. Broth forming slowly, drawing out scent and warmth as it simmered.
The sandwiches followed. Bread toasted just enough. Ham and cheese layered without excess. Practical. Filling.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
Time passed quietly.
—
The soup settled first.
Warm. Light. Not complex, but balanced. The broth carried a mild depth—nothing rich, nothing heavy. Just enough to sit comfortably without weighing him down.
The vegetables were soft, not overdone. The flavor held.
Simple.
But intentional.
The sandwiches—
Slightly crisp on the outside. The cheese melted just enough to bind everything together. The salt from the ham carried through cleanly.
Efficient.
Not something you'd remember.
But not something you'd complain about either.
…
I let that thought linger.
For someone who didn't think much about food beyond function—
He still did it properly.
The meal finished. The dishes cleaned. Everything returned to where it belonged.
Then—
Water again. This time for the bath.
Heat. Steam. The weight of the day washing off in silence.
And just as quietly—
It ended.
He dried himself. Changed. Routine, complete.
Back to the room.
Back to the bed.
—
He lay down.
This time, he didn't close his eyes immediately.
That alone was different.
His gaze stayed on the ceiling, unfocused but not distant.
Thinking.
Not about the book. Not about tomorrow.
Earlier.
The goblin extermination quest.
Everything that followed.
How quickly it all unfolded.
One decision. One acceptance.
And everything shifted.
His thoughts moved toward something broader.
Causality.
The idea formed, but didn't expand too far.
Actions have consequences.
Simple. Obvious.
And yet—
That was enough for him.
He didn't chase it deeper. Didn't try to dissect it beyond that point.
Just acknowledged it.
Accepted it.
And stopped.
…
I wasn't surprised.
For someone like him, hesitation isn't part of the process.
But not because he's confident.
That would be easier to understand.
No—
He just doesn't know what's coming so he steps forward first.
Then deals with whatever follows.
That's how he moves.
And somehow—
It works.
I thought about that for a moment longer.
It's reckless.
There's no way around that.
Walking forward without fully considering the consequences, only adapting after the fact—
That's not strategy, that's risk.
But—
He's still here.
Which means it's not blind.
He knows his limits.
That's the difference.
He doesn't predict the path.
He just makes sure he can survive it.
…
His breathing shifted.
Slower now.
Even.
The thoughts that lingered at the surface began to thin.
But one remained.
Faint. Quiet.
Are these consequences… part of something?
Causality.
Everything leading into something else.
Or—
Fate.
Destiny.
The words formed loosely. Not fully defined. Not something he was trying to answer.
Just something that passed through.
And stayed long enough to be noticed.
I caught it.
Held onto it for a second longer than he did.
…
Causality makes sense.
Clean. Logical. Structured.
Fate?
That's something else entirely.
I turned it over once. Briefly.
Then—
The pull came.
Gentle.
Familiar.
His awareness dimmed.
And with it—
Mine.
The thought didn't finish.
It didn't need to.
Darkness came first.
Then nothing.
—
Morning came the same way it always did.
Quiet. Gradual. Light pressing gently through closed eyes.
And just like that—
I was awake.
No delay. No separation.
Same as him.
…Yeah. I'm getting used to this.
That thought came easier now. Less resistance. Less questioning. Whatever this situation is—
It's stable.
For now, that's enough.
—
Viole moved as he always did.
Up. No hesitation.
A short stretch first. Muscles loosening, joints settling into motion. Nothing excessive. Just enough to wake the body properly.
Then the sword.
Practice was clean. Controlled. Repetition without waste. Each swing measured, each step grounded. No flair. No unnecessary motion.
Just function.
Time passed in the rhythm of it.
Then breakfast. Simple. Efficient. Enough to start the day.
No lingering.
Preparation came right after.
—
The basket was already set aside.
He checked it once before leaving.
Sandwiches—wrapped. Packed for later.
Then the parchment.
Multiple sheets, folded and layered inside. Separate storage. Keeps the herbs from mixing. Prevents contamination.
Careful.
More than yesterday.
…
He's taking this seriously.
—
He stepped out.
The air was still fresh, the kind that hadn't fully warmed yet. The city was awake, but not crowded. Movement steady, not rushed.
He didn't stay.
North first.
He already knew where to look.
Clearmint. Frostleaf.
Familiar terrain meant no wasted time.
—
The search didn't take long.
He moved with purpose, eyes scanning low, adjusting only when needed. The first patch of Clearmint came quickly. Clean leaves. Healthy growth.
He knelt.
Careful extraction. No tearing. No damage to the surrounding roots.
Into the basket. Separated.
Then Frostleaf.
Colder to the touch, even in the morning air. Subtle frost lining the edges of the leaves, thin but present.
Interesting.
He gathered enough. Not excess. Just what he needed.
And then—
A shift.
Redveil leaves.
I caught that one immediately.
Different from the rest. Slightly deeper in color. Veins more pronounced. Not something he had used before.
He paused.
Not long.
Then reached for it.
A few leaves. Not many.
Testing.
Not processed. Not refined.
Straight use.
…
That's a bit bold.
But—
He didn't hesitate.
So it went into the basket.
Separated. Marked.
—
Once he had enough, he didn't linger.
Back toward the city.
North to center.
Then moving again.
West.
—
The walk shifted in pace.
Not slower. Not faster.
Just… quieter.
His gaze lifted more this time. Not for herbs—
For people. Adventurers.
He observed them as they passed. Posture. Movement. Equipment. Small tells.
Looking. Evaluating.
Mentor.
…
No one stood out. Not enough. Not yet.
—
The western side opened up soon after.
And just as quickly—
It came up empty.
He searched.
Walked further out. Adjusted direction. Checked the usual spots.
Nothing.
…
Makes sense.
This path leads to Oakfield.
Traffic flows through here constantly. Adventurers. Merchants. Travelers.
Anything useful wouldn't last long.
Picked clean before it has time to regrow.
—
He didn't dwell on it.
Turned back. No hesitation.
—
South next.
By the time he crossed back through the city, the light had shifted again. Higher now. Warmer.
Closer to midday.
The streets were fuller. Movement heavier.
Still, he didn't stop.
Lunch could wait.
That thought passed through him without resistance.
Find a good area first.
Then eat.
—
He moved toward the southern gate.
Steady. Uninterrupted.
The basket shifted lightly with each step. The contents secure. Separated.
Planned.
Everything so far had gone exactly as intended.
The southern side of the city opened up with a familiarity that didn't need confirming.
Viole had been here before.
Paths. Terrain. The way the ground dipped slightly toward the outer edges, where moisture gathered just enough to support growth.
Still—
He scanned.
Careful. Methodical. No assumptions.
His gaze moved low, tracing patterns between grass and soil, checking for irregularities. Small shifts in color. Shape. Density.
Nothing immediate.
Then—
A quiet interruption.
His stomach.
A low, drawn-out growl.
…
Right.
He adjusted without resistance and moved toward the nearest patch of shade. A tree, just off the path. Enough cover from the sun without blocking the view of the surrounding area.
He sat.
The basket settled beside him.
Lunch came out without delay.
—
The first bite was the same as before.
Simple.
But it held.
The bread had softened slightly from being packed, but not enough to ruin it. The cheese still carried through, binding the flavor together. The salt from the ham lingered just enough to keep it from feeling flat.
Nothing special.
But consistent.
…
He knows what he's doing.
—
While eating, his attention shifted.
Not outward.
Down.
The herbs.
Clearmint. Frostleaf.
No issue there. Familiar. Reliable.
Then—
Redveil.
That one stayed in his thoughts longer.
Unprocessed. Untested.
He turned it over mentally, weighing options.
Potion would be the standard route. Safer. Controlled.
But—
That wasn't what he wanted.
Not yet.
Grinding it.
Turning it into a paste.
Applying it directly to a small wound.
Testing effect without dilution.
…
Straight to the point.
Risk included but measured.
He settled on it. Decision made.
—
Another bite.
His gaze lifted again, scanning the area between movements.
Not just for herbs this time.
Routes. Paths.
Where to move next. Which direction loops cleanly. Where to end.
The pond.
That was the final point.
Fishing.
…
I paused on that.
Wait.
He didn't bring anything.
No rod. No line. Nothing.
So how—
I ran through the options.
Hands?
Possible.
Katana?
…
That image stuck for a second.
Just—
Standing at the edge and striking fish mid-movement.
Honestly?
For him, that might actually work.
Speed. Precision. Control.
Still—
I was curious.
Enough to let the thought sit.
—
He finished the last piece without rushing.
No crumbs left. No waste.
Then he didn't stand right away.
A brief pause.
Rest. Not long. Just enough.
His breathing stayed even. Body settled, then reset.
Then—
He stood.
—
Back to work.
The search resumed.
This time, it paid off.
Dullpetal.
Not many.
Scattered. Sparse.
He gathered what he could find, careful not to damage the surrounding growth. Limited supply meant no room for carelessness.
Then—
Vigor Root.
That one stood out more once he spotted it.
Thicker base. Deeper color. Root structure partially exposed through the soil.
He crouched.
Careful extraction. Slow. Clean.
No breakage.
Into the basket.
…
Stamina. Energy.
Usually processed.
Same as Redveil.
And just like before—
He didn't plan to follow that route immediately. He can't do alchemy anyway.
Dry or grind it.
Test it directly.
See what it does without refinement.
…
Consistent approach.
Risk first.
Understanding later.
—
The basket grew heavier.
Not by much.
But enough to feel.
Clearmint. Frostleaf. Redveil. Dullpetal. Vigor Root.
A decent haul.
Not perfect.
But enough for experimentation.
—
He adjusted his grip slightly and straightened.
His gaze shifted forward.
South still had more to offer.
And beyond that—
The pond waited.
And I was still wondering how exactly he planned to deal with that part.
Viole kept moving.
The rhythm didn't change. Step, scan, gather. Anything familiar went into the basket—cleanly separated, no overlap, no careless stacking.
Nothing wasted. Nothing rushed.
Time passed in that quiet repetition.
Then—
He looked up, the sun had shifted further west. The light sharper, no longer soft like earlier.
Late.
That was his conclusion.
…
I paused on that.
Late? Not quite.
I ran a rough estimate.
A little past midday. Maybe just over two.
Still plenty of time left.
Then it clicked.
Not late in general.
Late for him.
Processing herbs takes time. Drying. Sorting. Testing. Then there's the guild—Liora. The mentor.
And—
Fishing.
…
Yeah. That tracks.
He gave a small nod to himself, as if confirming the adjustment, and shifted direction.
The pond.
—
I circled back to that thought again.
No rod. No line.
Nothing.
And yet—
He was heading there without hesitation.
I let out a quiet, internal breath.
Alright. I want to see this.
—
The walk didn't take long.
He knew where he was going. No detours. No second-guessing. The terrain shifted slightly as they moved further out, the ground dipping just enough to hint at water nearby.
Then—
The pond.
Still. Quiet.
Almost too quiet.
Viole didn't approach immediately.
He stopped a short distance away and observed.
That alone answered part of my earlier question.
He wasn't planning to wait.
No setup. No patience game. No sitting by the edge hoping something bites.
He was checking if it was even worth the effort.
—
His gaze moved across the surface.
Ripples. Reflections. Subtle distortions in the water.
Movement.
There.
One.
Then another.
A third.
…
That's it.
At most, three fish.
Small pond. Limited supply.
Even if he could catch them instantly, it wouldn't be worth much.
Time spent versus return.
Not efficient.
—
Decision made.
He didn't move closer.
Didn't even try.
Just—
Let it go.
—
For a moment, another option surfaced, another pond.
I followed the thought.
East side.
Further out.
…
Too far.
From here, it would take time. Time he already decided he didn't want to spend.
So that was out.
—
He turned back. No hesitation.
Plan adjusted.
Guild first, Liora.
Mentor, then the market.
Buy fish instead.
Then home.
—
He'd be back earlier than usual.
No long commissions. No drawn-out fights. No waiting on dungeon runs.
But this time—
It wasn't empty.
Every step still had direction.
Purpose.
Just… quieter.
More controlled.
—
The basket shifted slightly as he walked.
Heavier than before.
Not just with herbs.
The walk back was steady.
Not slow. Not rushed.
Just enough to cover distance without wasting time.
—
I circled back to it anyway.
The pond.
Three fish.
And no rod.
…
That still bothered me more than it should.
So he was just going to dive in? Maybe.
But catching fish barehanded isn't just about speed. Water distorts movement. Slows reaction. Fish don't move in straight lines.
Even with his precision—
It wouldn't be clean.
Unless—
The katana.
…
I paused there.
That would be something.
Fast. Direct. No hesitation.
Still—
Didn't get to see it.
I let out a quiet mental sigh.
I'll see it eventually.
—
Viole didn't slow.
His pace stayed consistent, and the city came back into view quickly. The outer edges gave way to familiar paths, then to people.
More movement now.
Adventurers. Travelers. Merchants.
His gaze shifted again.
Scanning, not for herbs this time.
For people.
—
One stood out.
A duelist.
Posture first—balanced, centered. No wasted tension. The way he carried himself wasn't forced.
Then equipment.
Clean. Maintained.
And more importantly—
Controlled.
Platinum Rank Insignia.
C-rank proficiency in Blade.
…
That's solid.
Viole's gaze lingered for a second longer than usual.
Not obvious. Just enough to take in the details.
Then—
He moved on. No approach. No interaction.
Just—
Stored.
—
I felt it then.
A subtle shift.
Not in his movements.
In his state.
He was… lighter.
Not outwardly. Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But I could feel it.
It wasn't about the mentor.
That much was clear.
It was the herbs.
…
Right.
Earlier, he was focused. Practical. Task-oriented.
Now—
There was something else mixed in.
Curiosity.
Maybe even a bit of anticipation.
Trying something new.
Grinding. Testing. Figuring out what works and what doesn't.
For someone like him—
That matters.
Living alone means no fallback. No one to rely on if something goes wrong.
So if he can make even basic medicine himself—
That's security.
Control.
Independence.
…
Yeah.
That explains it.
—
The Guild came into view.
And just like before—
The shift.
Subtle, but immediate.
Posture straightened. Expression cooled.
He stepped inside.
Noise. Movement. The usual.
But—
Liora was already looking at him.
Waiting.
That was clear.
As soon as he got close, she spoke.
"Why are you late?"
Straightforward. No greeting.
Just that.
—
Viole didn't pause.
"Herb gathering," he answered simply.
No extra detail. No justification beyond what was necessary.
Then—
"The mentor you mentioned. What's their status?"
Direct.
—
Liora hesitated.
Just a bit.
Enough to notice.
"She's… not taking students right now," she said.
A small pause.
"But she might make an exception."
Viole didn't interrupt.
"She said she'd consider it if the person is… interesting."
—
That word stayed.
Interesting.
Viole's gaze narrowed slightly.
"What does that mean?"
Liora shrugged.
"I don't know."
…
That wasn't helpful.
—
Then she added—
"She wants to meet you first."
That changed things.
"She'll be here tomorrow morning."
A beat.
"You should come."
Not a suggestion.
An insistence.
"Make time."
—
Silence settled briefly between them.
I watched his reaction.
Measured.
No immediate response.
Just—
Processing.
—
Interesting.
That's the condition.
Not skill. Not rank. Not results.
Just—
That.
…
Yeah.
This might actually be worth seeing.
Still— a friend of Liora, huh?
That was the first thing that registered.
And a woman…
Not surprising on its own—but paired with the rest?
High blade proficiency. Platinum rank, at the very least, if she's mentoring selectively. And—
…
That narrowed things down more than it should.
Not many like that.
Which meant—
She wasn't just strong.
She was known.
That part held my attention longer than expected.
—
Viole, on the other hand, didn't dwell.
He gave a simple nod.
Agreement.
No questions. No visible interest.
Just acceptance.
Meeting her wouldn't hurt. The guild was close. Time wasn't an issue.
—
He turned and left.
And right on cue—
The shift.
Outside the guild, away from immediate interaction—
That's when it started—His thoughts.
…
Yeah.
I've seen this before.
He doesn't process things in the moment. Not outwardly.
He moves first, then thinks after.
Alone.
—
The mentor surfaced in his mind again.
"Interesting."
That word.
Undefined. Unclear. No measurable condition.
Not skill. Not rank.
Just—
That.
…
His thoughts didn't go far with it.
He didn't try to guess what it meant.
Didn't build expectations. Didn't build anything, really.
And that was intentional.
Keep it neutral.
No expectations means no unnecessary adjustment.
—
He didn't linger in front of the guild.
Didn't look back.
The next step was already set.
Market.
—
The walk was steady.
Familiar path. No distractions.
He reached the stalls and moved through them with the same efficiency as before.
Fish.
That was the only target.
He selected quickly. Checked size. Freshness. Eyes clear, flesh firm.
Five pieces.
Enough for today and tomorrow. No excess.
—
Then home.
—
The moment he stepped inside, the routine resumed.
No rest. No delay.
The fish came first.
Cleaned. Prepared. Scales removed. Insides cleared. Washed properly.
Then the fire.
Simple cooking.
Grilled.
Salt. Pepper.
Nothing else. No complexity.
Just letting the ingredient carry itself.
—
The smell settled into the room.
Clean. Warm. Familiar.
And still—
He didn't eat.
—
The basket came next.
Opened.
Herbs inside, still separated, still intact.
His focus narrowed immediately.
Redveil. Vigor Root.
Those two.
—
He took the Redveil first.
Leaves out. Washed. Set.
Then ground.
Slow pressure. Consistent motion. Breaking it down into a paste.
The scent changed slightly as it broke apart. Sharper. More concentrated.
He paused just long enough to assess it—
Then—
A small clean cut on his palm.
…
Straight to testing.
No hesitation.
The paste went on immediately.
A sting followed.
Not strong.
But noticeable.
He watched and waited.
…
Nothing. No visible healing. No immediate effect.
—
He didn't react.
Just reached for the parchment and wrote it down.
Result: irritation. No regenerative effect in raw paste form.
Next step—
Drying, then brewing.
That stayed.
—
The Redveil was set aside.
A portion for drying. Measured. Controlled.
Then—
Vigor Root.
—
He paused there.
Stamina. Energy.
Typically processed into a potion.
Which meant—
Same approach.
Direct testing wouldn't be as simple as applying it.
This one had to be ingested.
Which meant preparation first.
—
Before that, he moved to clean everything.
All herbs.
Washed properly. Dirt removed. Excess moisture shaken off.
Ordered.
—
And then—
Another shift.
Not in action.
In thought.
Ai's words surfaced.
Drying methods.
Sun or oven.
—
Sun would take too long.
Days.
He didn't want to wait.
Not when the goal was immediate testing.
So—
Alternative.
—
The idea formed quickly.
Clay pot and low fire.
Controlled heat.
A makeshift oven.
…
I leaned into that one.
That's—
Actually smart.
—
He moved without delay.
Clay pot out. Fire adjusted.
Low. Steady.
A small batch first.
Clearmint. Frostleaf.
Test subjects.
—
Inside the pot.
Heat applied.
Time passed.
Not long.
But enough.
—
He opened it.
Checked.
…
Dry.
Evenly.
Not burned.
Not overdone.
Close.
Very close to proper oven drying.
—
I paused there.
That worked better than expected.
—
He didn't celebrate it.
Didn't dwell.
Just noted it.
There was still one question left.
Would it work when brewed?
—
He didn't answer that yet.
Not now.
—
The rest followed.
Batch by batch.
Careful drying.
Separation maintained.
No mixing.
—
Once done, he stored them back into parchment.
Organized. Labeled by placement.
Temporary but functional.
—
Then—
A final thought, containers. Bottles.
…
Yeah.
That'll be needed soon.
—
After finishing with the herbs, he moved on without pause.
Dinner came next.
The fish held up well. Grilled cleanly, the skin slightly crisp, the inside still tender. Salt carried the flavor through without overpowering it, the pepper adding just enough edge to keep it from being flat.
Simple but done right.
…
I noticed that again.
He doesn't overcomplicate things.
He just executes them properly.
—
The bath followed.
Heat. Water. Silence.
The day washed off in the same steady rhythm as before.
No interruptions. No lingering thoughts.
—
Then bed.
No delay this time. No contemplation.
Just—
Rest.
And like always—
I went with him.
—
Day 5—Aqualis
Morning came.
And I was awake with him.
At this point, it wasn't strange anymore.
Just… expected.
—
He moved through the routine without deviation.
Stretching first. Muscles loosening, body aligning itself for movement.
Then the sword.
Clean arcs. Controlled steps. Precision without excess. Each strike carried intent, even in repetition.
No wasted effort.
—
Breakfast followed.
Simple. Enough to sustain.
Then preparation.
—
Armor.
Strapped properly. Adjusted where needed.
Weapon.
Checked. Secured.
Then the basket.
—
Inside—
Two pieces of grilled fish. Packed for later.
Parchment papers. Same purpose as yesterday.
Separation. Organization.
Herb gathering again.
Eastern side this time.
…
Consistent.
—
He was about to leave.
Then—
A pause.
Small.
But deliberate.
—
Today.
The thought surfaced clearly.
Reward and Promotion.
And—
The mentor.
Right.
—
He didn't react much to it.
Just acknowledged.
It wouldn't take long.
That was his conclusion.
Which meant—
There was still time. Time to gather. Time to move.
Maybe even—
Fish.
—
He turned.
Back toward the room.
And that's when it changed.
—
A spool of line and a hook.
No rod.
…
I stared at that for a second.
Wait.
So he did plan for it.
Just—
Not in the way I expected.
—
The realization clicked into place.
Yesterday's pond.
Scarce.
Not worth setting up for.
Not worth waiting.
So he didn't bother.
—
But today—
Different area. Different conditions.
More potential.
—
Still—
No rod.
Just line and hook.
…
Alright.
Now I'm interested again.
—
He placed them into the basket alongside everything else.
Clean. Organized. No tangling.
Prepared.
—
Then he stepped out.
—
The air was fresh again. Morning just settling into place. The city not fully awake yet, but already moving.
He didn't slow.
Eastern side.
That was the plan.
—
And this time—
I had a feeling I'd finally see how he intended to catch those fish.